


Wandless

by reilly503



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/M, Lucius's A+ Parenting, Time Travel AU, some AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-03-11 17:14:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reilly503/pseuds/reilly503
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is working in Magical Law enforcement, doing wonderful things, watching her kids grow up and start their lives at Hogwarts, but when a mysterious man arrives, a powerful wizard with a keen and strange interest in her life, her world as she knows it is changed forever. Is Hermione living a bizarre dream, or has she woken up already?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is the first fic I've ever posted, so I'm still getting the hang of updating and such, so please, bear with me. I'm from the United States, and I'm actually not part of the Harry Potter fandom, but I've always found that I've enjoyed Draco/Hermione works, and I thought I'd give it a shot. That being said, I'll try to do the best research I can about some of the details covered, but if they're wrong, inconsistent, or if things work differently in Wizarding-England, be sure to comment and tell me! Now, if you actually read this, you da real MVP, and I hope you enjoy. I'm always looking for ways to make my writing better, so if you have any suggestions as to where I should go with the story or what I should change, I'd love to hear them, and I'll make sure to update my tags as I go along. Thanks!

There sat a lone wizard in the pub.

The bartender had watched the man the entire time, giving him careful side-eyed glances as he wiped down the bar. The wizard merely sat by the fire, the crackling of the wood growing quieter with the pale flame. He couldn’t read the title, but the wizard held a black book, eyes flitting across the pages quickly. “Ya gonna get somefin’, mate?”

“I wasn’t planning to, but now that you mention it, do you make hot chocolate?” the wizard mused in a posh baritone. From merely the voice, the bartender could tell that this man was higher class, but a better look at his outfit proved the fact. He wore a black suit with a silk, black button down, the fine material glinting in the low light.

The bartender began to laugh, but when he noticed the serious expression on the wizard’s face, he stopped. “Ya serious? Dis is a bloody pub.”

“I prefer to stay sharp in the late hours of the night. But if you aren’t able to make hot chocolate, I’m perfectly content without a beverage.”

The bartender squinted his eyes as he studied the strange man, finally turning away, shaking his head. As a matter of fact, he  _could_ make hot chocolate, pretty bloody well, and if the strange man wanted it… After all, he had seen weirder things happen the farther into the night it would go, idiots roaming into the pub and getting piss-drunk before him.

He returned from the kitchen with a small white glass and saucer in hand, carrying a steaming sweet cup of hot chocolate, gently placing it on the table next to the man.

“’ere ya ah, one hot chocolate,” the bartender stated triumphantly.

“My my, even with a cinnamon stick,” the wizard observed.

“Yeah, it’s me mum’s special recipe.”

“Brilliant. Thank you.” The man looked back down at his book, and the bartender snuck a closer look at it.  _The Theory of Everything,_ it read,  _by Steven Hawking._

As the bartender returned back to his post of wiping the bar, he began to wonder. “What’s dat book yo’ reading dere?” he asked.

“ _The Theory of Everything._ It’s quite fascinating,” the wizard replied, never looking up from the pages.

“Isn’t dat some muggle fing? Science, and whateva?”

“Whether you’re a wizard or a muggle, science is still relevant in your life. Magic accounts for a lot, but not everything. Have you ever thought about the origins of life and the universe, whatsoever? It’s mystifying.” As he spoke, he absentmindedly spun his left index finger in small circles, stirring the cinnamon stick in the hot chocolate.

The bartender’s eyes grew wide when he noticed what he was doing. “What’re ya doing dere?”

“Excuse me?”

“Wif, wif yo’ finga. What’re ya doing?”

“Magic,” the man replied. He snapped the book shut, standing up. Grabbing for the cup and its saucer, he took a long sip of the drink and silently placed it back on the side table. “How much do I owe you?”

“Who—who ah ya?” the bartender asked anxiously. Whoever this man was, he was reading about  _science_ and doing  _wandless magic._

The man stayed silent, pulling out some coins from his pocket. He placed them all into a tall, singular stack on the table, calling, “Thank you, and good night.” The bell on the door jingled softly, and he seemed to disappear.

The bartender approached the table, reaching for the stack and the cup. As soon as his fingers got within six inches, the coins suddenly rose up from the table and floated into a sphere. He watched, mesmerized, as the coins spun into intricate shapes, never tiring.

They fell back to the table with a  _dink!,_ and he continued to stare at the coins laying there. They looked normal, and he was a bloody wizard, for Merlin's sake, he could perform  _magic_. How could some floating coins alarm him?

He tried to convince himself, he really did. He tried to say that the coins and the man were just a normal thing, that the man really did have a wand and his eye sight was going bad, or that he was hallucinating. But the wizard was illusive and mysterious, and there was a power there that was unheard of. Not even Harry Potter, or Dumbledore, or even  _Merlin_ could do wandless magic.

The bartender looked up at the door again, eyebrows furrowed, wondering where he would end up next.

\----------------------------------------------------- 

Hermione sighed, slumping back onto the chair. Rose and Hugo… they were on the train, all the way to Hogwarts. They were already old enough to attend, and it scared her. She rubbed her temples, remembering how her children reacted as they entered the train station.

Not nearly as mystified by everything in the magical place, she felt a little let down. She had told them how wonderful it was at Hogwarts, how she found it absolutely enchanting to actually be there, and especially the train ride. Oh, the train, and merely the station itself! She had purchased everything necessary for the ride by that time, and partnered up with Crookshanks (she missed that old cat), she stepped into platform 9 ¾ and watched as the world around her melted away into the extraordinary. Her children merely nodded, with somewhat bored looks around the station, not wanting to be completely rude to their mother. Then again, she was Muggle-born, and her children already have had exposure, living in the Wizarding world. 

And the nostalgia hit her even more when she noticed the other parents there, dropping their children off. It made her feel so aged to see Ginny and Luna and Harry and Neville, and by Merlin… even Draco! She watched the familiar faces, both reflecting the people she knew in the first year of school, all those years ago, and at the same time appearing to be all new people. _She_ wasn’t that old yet, was she?

She felt stunted, and knew that the others had to feel this way too. They were forced to grow up far too fast, to stand up and handle the responsibility of other lives. Her body had to adapt to the load she carried on her shoulders, the stress and rigors of war, and it showed that. She absentmindedly felt her face as she thought, running her fingers over the new lines on her face. They were still at the corners of her eyes and places that were common for someone like her, but those marks were the physical manifestation of time etched into her skin.

Mentally, she was living her Hogwarts years over again. She felt robbed of her childhood, and she must have been making up for lost time now.

It was the fighting. It had to be the fighting. She had to _kill people._ Actual, live, _human beings_ , murdered at her hand. Occasionally, she would have nightmares. She would have tense moments when her mind vividly replayed everything, the sights, the sounds, the feel. The worst part, the most horribly gruesome part by far was the aftermath. At least in battle, you keep moving. You can avoid the parts that hurt, you can pretend to pass off the image of a fallen comrade or friend as a trick of the light, their face falling into the crowd of soldiers. They were forced to make rounds, finding and confronting the dead and bleeding bodies of people she partnered up with in Herbology, or someone whose hair tie she forgot to return. The kid who liked studying with her or someone who she always wanted to tell, ‘I love your hair!’. She had to put names and lives to the people, find their back stories and learn about their worlds, and then confront their parents, having to tell them, watching them sob horribly over their children, their poor, poor children, who weren’t even old enough to vote or drink alcohol.

There was a disconnect between her mind and her body, she realized. Her mind refuses to see the things her body was forced to confront.

“Mrs. Weasley?” she heard.

“Hm, yes?” Her head snapped to attention, and she peered over to see who was calling her. She was at working. She was supposed to be working. It was just Janice, the Department Assistant.

“I have a message for you.”

Hermione tilted her head dubiously. Something about that phrase seemed off, about this situation.

 “Janice, why are you delivering this by hand?” The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had spent quite a bit of its budget working on refining and adding to internal communications. They decided that the Deputy Head should not be bothered, so why was Janice talking to her in person now?

“I was told that this is sensitive information.”

Hermione straightened her clothes out and sat up a little straighter. “Thank you, Janice.”

The meek woman darted over to the desk, handing Hermione a slip of paper, carefully folded. Hermione quickly looked over the neat print, nodding to Janice. The assistant left the room, swiftly pulling the door shut.

Two minutes later, there was a rap on the door, and Hermione called, “Enter.” The door swung open silently, revealing a man in black. 

“Ms. Granger?” he asked, his voice smooth, and clear.

“I’m actually Mrs. Weasley, now,” Hermione corrected gently. In the back of her mind, she began to try and recollect if she had met this man before, at least before she had gotten married.

 “I never thought that you were the type of person to conform to such outdated rituals, like changing last names after marriage,” he mused, walking farther into her office. He quietly took a seat in the chair before her desk.

“I’m sorry, but have we met before this time?” she asked.

“Have _you_ met _me_? No. I know plenty about you, though.”

She looked taken aback as she continued to watch the man. "Excuse me?" she asked, trying to find the joke or reference, a viable reason behind the man's odd words.

"We may have met before, we may have not, but either way, you don't remember, and I know all sorts of fun things about what's going on inside your head, Hermione." He seemed to be leaning closer, but Hermione did not dare to avert her eyes and check. She had run across many weird things in a few short years, and every nerve in her body wanted her to run. Her hand slowly crept to her waist, tenderly trying to grab for her wand.

The man must've noticed, because he made a flicking motion with his hand and the wand flew out from her pocket, smacking into the wall across the room.

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head, but never taking the gleefully dark eyes off her. "That's not nice, attempting to hurt people like that, and if you were merely going to disarm me..." he showed his bare palms, shrugging. "Oopsie!"

"That's--That's impossible," she stated, the thumping in her chest growing louder. "You have to have a wand to do magic."

"Not me, hon. I'm what they call  _special."_ He readjusted his pants and the collar on his shirt. "But we really should discuss what I came to talk about.  _You._ "

"Me?" Hermione asked. In retrospect, why else would he come here? Yes, it may have been a stupid question, but she need him to talk. She was disarmed, and all she had was her wit against the powerful stranger.

"Of course, silly. I have to tell you the truth, there is so much you don't know about yourself. You never lived the way you should've. This life is all wrong."

"I have a husband, and children, and a wonderful job with--"

"Those things may satisfy you, but are they what you really need? Some one may hand you a small chocolate chip, and sure, that bit-sized morsel may make you happy, but what if someone came along and wanted to give you twenty chocolate bars of the highest quality? The chip may seem good, but you haven't had a taste of the bars yet."  The man was definitely closer, whispering in her ear. "I want to hand you those bars, show you what  _really_ should've happened."

His breath was hot on her, and he had a scent that seemed to make her feel like her mind shut down. She could feel her eyes narrowing as she tried to focus intently on her words, "Why would, why would you do that? What are you doing this for?"

"Oh Hermione, I think you had the most potential out of the 'Golden Trio'. Never mind 'the Boy Who Lived' nonsense, they should have all watched you! You should really be the true hero of this story, Hermione."

The man backed up, wandering around her office, touching random things and gazing at her photos. She could think clearer as soon as he left, and she immediately exclaimed, "Who says I want to be a hero? What if I don't agree with whatever you have planned?"

He froze up. Not even turning around, he replied, "You don't have to agree. No, not at all. I just needed to see you for this to work."

The last thing she saw before she hit the floor was a mischievous, curling smile.


	2. A New Beginning

Her head hurt.

The light was bright, she had just woken up, and there was a weird buzzing in her ear making it all so much worse.

“Hermione!” her mother called from the kitchen. “It’s your first day, you don’t want to be late.”

She remembered, despite the throbbing pain in her head; today was her first day at Hogwarts. She was going to become a witch.

Normally she would be up with the crack of dawn, doing something productive, but she was up later today. She didn’t know why, but she could most certainly work around that. Throwing on her clothes and making her hair look _somewhat_ presentable, she grabbed the new items she would need for the day: armfuls of wizarding textbooks. She had already memorized them, but it was still exhilarating to touch the old, leather covers. Her mother and father had timidly joined her to purchase all of the items needed, and she recalled them being very anxious as they walked down the street, jumping at every owl-cry or magical plant growl. The people were very friendly with all of them, but she noticed a few menacing looks from people going by.

She walked out from her room to see her father reading the paper and her mother cooking breakfast. When her mother spotted her, she stopped cooking to look at Hermione, hands clutching her chest.

“Oh Hermione, you look like a full-blown witch already!” she exclaimed, extending her arms for Hermione. “Come here.”

Hermione gave her mother a large hug, and she could feel her brushing the wild hair from her face with a free hand.

“I’m just so proud of—”

“Jean, the food!” her father exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “It’s burning!”

Her mom spun around and rushed over to the pan, sliding it off the burner. As she inspected the food, trying to find out whether it was edible or not, her father shook his head.

“You see, Hermione,” he stated. “Your mother wanted to cook so badly, because this is a special day for you, but this is what happens when you let your mother cook.”

“I’m a dentist! I do _dentistry_ , not cooking. Besides,” she added, scooping up one of the dark crepes with her spatula. “It’s not _that_ burnt.”

Her father began to laugh. “Well, I have the exact same job as you, but I’m able to cook food without burning it.” He turned back to Hermione, telling her, “You may have to have some cereal or something until I can fix this.”

Hermione merely smiled, gazing at the scene between her parents. They seemed to shift gracefully around each other, working together fluidly, occasionally stopping to hear a teasing remark from her father and laugh from her mother. Ever since getting her letter from Hogwarts, she was immersed in magic, and she saw it everywhere. Even now, she felt her parents had their own sort of magic, even for being Muggles—she learned the phrase, meaning ‘non-wizard’, from her studies—different than the wands, spells and potions of the wizarding world.

She slowly chewed her cereal, musing over what she could possibly learn today, speculating on what the School even looked like. With a poignant glance back up at her parents, she realized that she would not see them for a long time, and they couldn’t even watch her board the train. They told her they couldn’t, due to work beginning, and could only drop her off at the station. She adamantly insisted that she could find the way all on her own, that she would be okay, but she could still see the uneasy looks coming from them.

\----------------------------------------------------- 

The engine was running, and the car sat outside the station in the lot. Pulling out her bags, Hermione spotted some of the kids with similar arrangements and familiar robes, and she knew she was at the right place. With a nervous, yet eager, energy, she thumbed at the straps on her bags, securing them for a forth time. Her mother and father were both getting misty eyed, as much as they’d like to say otherwise, but they had small smiles too.

“Oh Hermione,” her mother said quietly. “I wish I knew something to say, but, I have no idea what to tell you. I can’t even give you advice about what to do when you’re there.”

“We want you to know that we are so, so proud of you, sweetheart,” her father added. “And that this will be one of the best experiences of your life. We’ll have to stay in touch with letters until Christmas, but I know you’ll have lots to tell us when we see each other again.”

They both embraced her with a warm hug, and Hermione could feel her mother slide her hand up to her face, stifling a sob. “Good luck,” she whispered.

“You’ll be the greatest witch to have ever walked the earth,” her father stated, putting such emphasis into it, Hermione couldn’t help but want to believe him.

She pulled back, smile stretched from ear to ear. She confidently grabbed the cart carrying her bags, setting off into the station.

“Oh, we love you, honey!” her mom yelled after.

Hermione looked back, exclaiming, “I love you too!”

She navigated the heavy cart through the crowds, following some of the older kids to their destination. She knew that they needed to be at platform 9 ¾, but she _also_ knew that the station did not have that number for a platform. Her parents wondered if it had been a mistake when they received it, but as Hermione followed the kids, she understood it wasn’t. The kids began to hurtle towards a column between platforms nine and ten, throwing all of their weight and momentum forward towards the brick, and they suddenly would disappear as soon as the moment of impact would happen.

All logic and learning she had come to know and love told her that there should really be a pile of mangled up carts, bags flung open all over the places, injured birds and bruised children, but the path was clear, and the people continued to walk by as if nothing had happened.

Hermione knew that if she went slowly, she might not be able to make it through, and she was determined to have a wonderful first day. She positioned the cart in front of the column, taking a deep breath in. Defying all common sense, she charged the brick, shutting her eyes.

She felt nothing. She tenderly opened her eyes, preparing for the column to be directly in front of her, but she looked around to see a large platform before her, lots of students in their robes rushing around with their luggage. Behind her, the brick was solid.

_So this is Platform 9 ¾,_ she mused, gazing at the space around her. Steam filled the room when the train bellowed, and for once, she wasn’t worried about the frizz making her hair uncontrollable. The train itself was astounding; Hermione never paid much attention to automobiles or vehicles, and didn’t know too much about the specifics, but she could tell it was a handsome machine, hard black metal lined with a glittering crimson, the words ‘Hogwarts Express’ in large gold font. Hermione found the people the most fascinating of all, though, the crewmen on the train dressed in bright red outfits, darting past ladies with intricate hair styles and large flimsy hats, some men with long, snowy beards and finely tailored suits. Some people were wearing peculiar glasses that spun with a kaleidoscope of colors or had a large, terrifying bird sitting on their shoulders.

Not wanting to be late, she made her way over to the cabins, a man kindly offering to help her with her things. She wanted to show that she could be independent, but knew that it would be foolish to decline help for so many cumbersome bags. She was glad she accepted it, too, because it turned out that the bags were stored on a different part of the train, and would be brought to the castle separately.

Walking down the narrow strip of red marking the aisle way, she noticed a frantic looking boy squeezing past people down the aisle. He kept trying to get the attention of those around him, but they continued to walk forward, not even giving a glance towards the pleading boy.

“Excuse me,” Hermione said. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’ve lost my toad,” the boy responded, concern riddling his face. “Please, can you help me search the cars to find it?”

“What’s your name?” Hermione asked. She knew she surely wouldn’t be able to find him again without a name.

“Neville. Neville Longbottom.”

“Alright Neville, I’ll help you find your toad. We should really split up and cover more ground, though, it’ll be far more effective that way.”

Neville went off in the opposite direction, and as Hermione spotted one cabin with a red-headed boy, she thought it would be good to start there.

“No no,” someone behind her spoke. She spun around and suddenly seemed to get a throbbing ache in her head, similar to the one she had this morning. It was a brunet boy with a striking, pale face, wearing a black dress shirt and slacks, unlike the many robes surrounding them. “I’m helping him out too. I already checked in there, and they don’t know where the toad is.”

She tentatively nodded, for a pit was growing in her stomach. The boy placed a hand that seemed too firm for someone her age and walked her forward, barely letting her glance back at the red-head with a rat and a raven-haired boy with a pair of broken, circular glasses.

_I guess they haven’t seen the toad,_ she thought, doubting herself, but not knowing why. The boy had no reason to lie, so she decided to trust him on it.

“Try this cabin, I’ll search farther down,” he continued, pointing to the cabin to their left.

Hermione, still wanting a handle on the situation, stated, “You should search on the right side, I’ll search the left. That way, we don’t overlap our searches.”

He smiled and said, “That’s a really good idea.”

Hermione turned and promptly entered the cabin, spotting a girl with smooth, dark brown hair sitting by the window. The girl looked up at Hermione, waiting for her to speak.

“Have you seen a toad?” Hermione asked. “I’m looking for one belonging to a boy named Neville Longbottom.”

“Oh, I haven’t. Who’s Neville?” the girl inquired, gazing up at Hermione.

Hermione felt her cheeks growing hotter. She didn’t even know who he was!

“He’s, uh, first year, like us. He’s got brown hair and a snaggle tooth,” she listed, trying to recall any details about him. “And he’s awfully forgetful, considering he’s lost his toad. I’m afraid I can’t tell you too much else.”

The girl smiled. “Well, I think it’s nice of you to help him, even though you don’t know him. What your name?”

“Hermione, Hermione Granger.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Granger. I’m Melanie Negros.” She extended her hand to shake, and Hermione appreciated the formal contact. “You seem like a very nice person to me, would you care to sit down?”

Hermione bit her lip, looking back through the window down the hall. She didn’t see the boy yet, but she knew she should get back to work so Neville could find his toad.

“Neville lost his pet, and I told him I would help. Thank you for the invitation, though.” Hermione turned back around and began to push the door open when the girl called after her.

“Can I at least help you?” the girl asked. “It should be more efficient if we have more people searching, in case the toad moves while we’re looking.”

Hermione was happy. She was now able to hang out with the girl and do her job. Plus, she had a point; she hadn’t factored in whether the toad would _move_ during the trip.

They walked down the aisle together, checking in every cabin on the left hand side, and the girl began to ask questions.

“When did you learn you had magical ability?”

“When I was little, I distinctly remember reading a book called _Matilda_. Have you read it? It’s very good. Anyway, there’s some magic in the book, about a little girl, and she does all sorts of interesting things, and I remember that sometimes when I was little, and I either got _very_ sad or _very_ happy, I was able to make my books fly all over, just like her.” As she spoke, she felt warm and peaceful at the memory. “My parents, being Muggles, didn’t know what to do about that, but I thought it was wonderful.”

“You’re Muggle-born?”

Hermione nodded. Her heart began to pound a little harder. She knew that some wizards didn’t like Muggle-borns, and though she would never lie to someone about her heritage, she hoped she wouldn’t be insulted by her new friend.

“You seem like you know more about magic than most first year Muggle-borns do,” Melanie added.

“As soon as I got my letter, I began checking out books about the wizarding world and reading my texts for school,” she replied proudly.

Melanie nodded. “That makes learning about school seem fun. I’m a pureblood, so by the time school had come around, I had already read all of the books in my collection. It wasn’t very new or fascinating to me.”

Hermione liked that she enjoyed reading as much as she did. “Do you want to be Ravenclaw?” She recalled the name of the House known for its bookish kids.

“Actually,” Melanie dropped her voice a little bit. “I do, but my family has always been in Slytherin and Gryffindor. My mom wants me to be in one and my father wants me to be in another.”

“Well, I hope you’re sorted into the house that’s right for you, not your parents,” Hermione stated confidently. A smile spread across the other girl’s face, her teeth an impeccable white compared to her dark skin.

“I hope so too,” Melanie replied. She grabbed Hermione’s arm, pointing before them and exclaiming, “Come on, we’ve got a toad to find!”

They continued farther down the train, searching high and low for the toad. Soon after, they tried to squeeze by the treat trolley, now empty. The lady walking the trolley grumbled about some boys a few cabins back, the black haired one who bought all of the candy. Now, she was forced to walk around with every first year on the train dogging her about where the sweets went.

Hermione was curious. She knew it was improbable, but could that boy have been the one with the red-head? Something about them… she was compelled to go see them, to meet them, and she hadn’t the faintest idea why.

She shook the thought out of her head. It was unnecessary to go into a cabin that had already been checked, and she was determined to complete her original objective. She and Melanie entered the next room to find three boys, all with slight pouts on their faces. Hermione always found she had a knack for surveillance, being able to spot small things that others couldn’t. She loved all sorts of books, but especially mysteries, considering she was really able to throw herself into the story, attempting to use the vast data base that was her brain to solve whatever problem that was at hand.

Rivaling Detective Holmes himself, Hermione noted that the two brunet boys, both with dull expressions and horrid posture, pouted more forcefully than the third boy, each occasionally looking to him for clues on what their mood should be. The third was pale and thin, every aspect about him seemed to be described by the word _sharp._ He was handsome, that was obvious, but it was a contemptuous, deceitful sort of handsome, his nose angling down, and no matter his position, he seemed to be looking down from above you, never seeming to make full, genuine eye contact. His hair was nearly as pale as his skin, slicked completely back in a manner she had never seen in person. All of those in the compartment were wearing robes of high quality, and she could imagine they felt decedent and cost far too much.

The blond boy had been looking out the window, lips pursed tightly with disgust. When he heard the cabin door open, he snapped his head in the direction of the two girls, looking at them briefly with an expression Hermione could not describe. His expression softened subtly when he recognized Melanie, lips curving up slightly and eyes studying them more magnanimously. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she wondered if this was the extent of the enigmatic boy’s emotional range.

“Ah, hello Melanie,” he stated, tone clipped, yet pleased. He clearly looked upon Hermione’s new friend favorably, and she was relieved. The boy appeared to be rather nasty with those he didn’t get along with, and was almost frightened by his manner. No one, she believed, could ever actually hold that much malice in their heart, there had to be some other reason. She certainly was a realist, not someone that gave the benefit of the doubt lightly. But this seemed to be beyond the realm of rationalism. “Who is this?” he asked, eyeing Hermione.

His expression was blank. She was entirely new to him. He knew nothing about her, she was a clean slate, and this would be his first impression. If he didn’t like her for who she was, well, the lousy officious prat could ride his high horse else where. She would never change who she was to impress some munchkin wizard. Admittedly, though, she hoped to make friends in this new place. She couldn’t be so brash and bold where she irritated everyone around her. This was a new school. She could put her best face forward, and no one would know differently. There was some comfort in the fact that she truly had control on who she seemed to be.

“My friend, Hermione,” Melanie stated, quickly adding, “You haven’t seen a toad, perhaps?” Hermione was curious as to what _that_ was about. Melanie appeared to be hiding something, and that something seemed to be Hermione. Was Melanie ashamed of her? She couldn’t decide if she was more offended or embarrassed. What did she not want this boy to know?

“Besides Goyle’s face?” he quipped. Though normally insulting, he delivered the statement lightheartedly, a cheeky smirk showing on his face. He didn’t strike Hermione as extremely intelligent, but there was certainly some degree of wit or cunning. He may not have been as bookish, but he thought quickly, saw things quickly. “No, I haven’t. Why do you ask?”

Melanie was very mum around this boy. “A student was looking, and we were trying to help. If you see one, you know where to find us.”

“I’ll see you then, Melanie,” he said. He turned to Hermione and nodded curtly. “Hermione,” he added smoothly, still watching her with a polite, though barren, expression.

They left the compartment, walking from in front of the glass where the boys could still see them. “What are you not telling me?” Hermione demanded, voice low but urging.

Melanie sighed, face contorting with slight guilt. “That’s Draco Malfoy. He really is funny, polite, very charming once you get to know him, but he’s known for being… well…”

“Well?” Hermione queried. 

“He comes from a very wealthy, very powerful, very _pure_ family,” she stated cautiously. “And was raised with very strict ideals.”

Hermione’s heart dropped in her chest. She knew what that meant. “He’s an elitist pureblood who hates wizards like me,” she finished.

“I’m not justifying the things he says, but he’s merely parroting his father. Our families have been close friends for centuries, and Mr. Malfoy is spiteful and evil and cruel, especially to his family. You’d think for someone who values his own blood so highly, he would treat his family with respect.” She shook her head. “I just feel so bad for him, sometimes. He covers very well, but he’s just a terrified little boy who doesn’t want him or his mother to get hurt. 

Hermione felt so confused. She wanted to be angry at his bigoted ways, but now everything made since. The looks, the expression, the mannerisms. She clenched her fists. And things like domestic violence just made her angry. No one deserved that, _no one._ She wanted to console him and hate him at the same time, and she had no idea what to feel.

“I didn’t tell him about your blood or your name, because I want him to get to know you first. You’re clever, passionate, the sort of person he enjoys. He’s all bark and no bite, trust me. I feel so bad for doing that, but I hope you understand, even if you don’t agree.”

Hermione could tell that Melanie just really wanted her friends to be friends. She didn’t want to feel like this was ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’, but Melanie had good intentions. She would end up telling him, some way or another, but she could try and play along just for a little while, even if it made her feel dirty. And besides, if it backfired, delaying any hatred would be beneficial for all of them.

“Fine, but you promise he’s a nice guy,” Hermione resigned.

“Yes. Let him like you, it will work.”

Hermione nodded. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of update, but you know writers, constantly biting off more than they can chew. Between school and work and everything else in between, I just haven't taken the time, and I really should. I'm genuinely excited to see where this goes, and I want to make sure that my characters are as in line with the original writing as I can, because I truly feel that Hermione and Draco make the best pairing when they're themselves, not overly-nice-Draco or rude/selfish Hermione. One struggle is the fact that Draco is a straight up racist in the books and movies, but I think that given the proper insight into his head, we can see more of that confusion between his moral compass and the way he was raised that we see in the sixth and seventh books. I don't always agree with his actions, but I like the fact that his character is very accurate to many growing up in abusive or extremely strict households. Again, HP is definitely not my fandom-forte, and yet I love this pairing, so any information to improve my writing in appreciated. Here's hoping to more frequent updates and actually finishing a friggin story in my life!


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